My sister-in-law sent me an email making the rounds in cyberspace. It’s called Grandma’s Hands and reminded me of my own mother’s hands. At 82-years-old, her hands are gnarled from arthritis, thin and wrinkled with age. It is difficult for her to accept that her body is not what it used to be and she regularly examines her hands, saying “Look how ugly they are.” I tell her they are beautiful.
“These hands are the mark of where I’ve been…”
Her hands have been places and worked hard—far away, working to help her parents survive through WWII; selflessly raising two children and taking care of house and husband; painfully sewing all day to support her after a divorce.
“But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home.”
She is in her twilight days now. Her hands speak of a long life and many memories. They are her history, but they have left their mark on my life. Someday, my hands will be her hands. I hope I find them to be beautiful.
moonbridgebooks 
I am ninety years old and this piece on your grandma played familiar chords. Our hands tell our life story. How we write it is all up to us. I hope to see more of your grandma in your blogs pages. It was an adventure walking through your blog. Thank you so much.